


Kinda Into It

by Snowy38



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Frat Boy Harry, Happy Ending, M/M, Smut, Top Harry, stripper!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy38/pseuds/Snowy38
Summary: A pair of eyes follow him, narrowed and if Louis has judged right; assessing. Trying to see if Louis has a favourite. Waiting to see if he gives it up to one of the baying crowd. He doesn't. He straightens up and moves smoothly back towards the intriguing man in the front-row seat.He hasn't moved, bar to clutch his fingers slightly around the edges of the circle-shaped seat; his thighs pushing open a little further as he tucks his ass in; showcasing his dick somewhat.The dress pants do barely anything to cover the jut of that length and Louis makes it his personal mission to make him hard. It's insulting really that he's not already there. He's been dancing for three minutes and if that isn't long enough to incite some interest then what is?





	Kinda Into It

**Author's Note:**

> Hi people
> 
> As requested by @lili_loularry who provided me with the prompt made by @BOYSLUVBOYS/IG
> 
> Apologies for the tags I didn't know how to describe this one!
> 
> Ang

 

 

_She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect And all the boys, they were saying they were into it Such a pretty face, on a pretty neck_

 

He comes in with a posse, about three or four guys with the same kind of low-lidded disinterest that gives way once liquor is served.

 

And when Louis goes on stage, the disinterest soon morphs into avid attention.

 

He's small and guys seem to like that. They seem to like the curve of his ass and the way his thighs are thick and muscular but not over-worked, shapely if you like and _biteable_.

 

They seem to like his slim waist and pretty features; cheeks flushed and lips swollen deliberately for his performance. They _absolutely_ like the way he moves; all strut and snarl; tempering into sensuous shimmies around the pole.

 

He doesn't use the pole; has never shown off his skills in public. He leaves that to Layton, the resident pole-dancer. Louis concentrates on seduction. He's an expert in _tease_. And he doesn't take private requests, usually.

 

 _Usually_.

 

Because tonight, he's had one and he narrows his eyes to scan the crowd for who the possible recipient could be because he hasn't made up his mind yet.

 

 

_Driving me crazy, but I’m into it, but I’m into it I’m kind of into it It’s getting crazy, I think I’m losing it, I think I’m losing it I think she said “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your, it’s none of your”_

 

He's on his knees, circling his hips, hands pushed into the front of his top to lift it barely off his belly to hint at his navel and he sees guys in the crowd ducking lower to see. All except one.

 

One who sits quite arrogantly, thighs wide open stretching the material of his wide-striped flared trousers. One who wears a cropped jacket that tapers in at the waist and should look ridiculous but the black shirt under it adds an edge, somehow. It adds danger.

 

Louis can't help the way his eyes stay on the voyeur as he rocks up onto his feet to walk seductively across the stage; bending and shaking his ass at a rowdy group of builders who are throwing their cash like rain on a British summer's day.

 

A pair of eyes follow him, narrowed and if Louis has judged right; assessing. Trying to see if Louis has a favourite. Waiting to see if he gives it up to one of the baying crowd. He doesn't. He straightens up and moves smoothly back towards the intriguing man in the front-row seat.

 

He hasn't moved, bar to clutch his fingers slightly around the edges of the circle-shaped seat; his thighs pushing open a little further as he tucks his ass in; showcasing his dick somewhat.

 

The dress pants do barely anything to cover the jut of that length and Louis makes it his personal mission to make him hard. It's insulting really that he's not already there. He's been dancing for three minutes and if that isn't long enough to incite some interest then what is?

 

The man's eyebrow lifts as he catches Louis' lingering gaze and it's a silent challenge. One that's accompanied by the drop of one of those big hands into his lap, the backs of his fingers brushing gently over the inside of one of those thick thighs.

 

Louis swallows, spinning and twisting his top over his head; almost forgetting his moves and the rhythm for the music playing; spurring him on.

 

When he turns back, he knows he has the upper hand.

 

The guy is no longer playing it cool. His hand cups the front of his trousers in a shielding gesture and Louis might ordinarily find it a bit distasteful that one of the customers was palming himself; he might give his security man the nod to take the guy out.

 

This time is not ordinary. Fire burns up the front of his body because the man's gaze is running there at the exact same time the heel of his hand is pushing rhythmically against his dick. At the exact same time he's licking and biting at his rather plush lips.

 

They look to be maraschino cherry red; his eyes are difficult to determine in the low light of the club but Louis' bending forward and grasping the front of his velcro'd trousers now; snapping his hips back and pulling at the material quickly to separate them.

 

He twirls the costume and tosses it away, flicking his hair from his eyes.

 

He's sweating now, his heart is thumping.

 

He wants this to be the guy who wants a private dance because he's practically giving him one anyway and he wants to do it all over again straight after with nobody else there to watch.

 

 _Go slow_.

 

Louis can read lips, apparently. He didn't know until  now. But the request is an odd one. Usually guys like him to be as naked as possible. Usually they want him hard-grinding the stage floor and fucking up against the pole for the longest half of his routine.

 

And he can't change it around; not really. Not for one guy.

 

"Later," he says into the cat-calls and yells for 'more'.

 

The only person who hasn't demanded anything is the man in his vision.

 

He moves again, to break the intense eye-contact, to give the other punters a chance to see.

 

_It’s New York, baby, always jacked up Whole tunnels, foreign noses always backed up When she’s alone, she goes home to a cactus In a black dress, she’s such a such an actress_

_Driving me crazy, but I’m into it, but I’m into it I’m kind of into it_

_It’s getting crazy, I think I’m losing it, I think I’m losing it I think she said “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” (none of your, none of your) “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your, it’s none of your”_

 

His arm stretches behind his head, gripping the pole with an upside down hand so that it stretches his body out and shows off his dainty ribs and the beautiful arch of his lower back as he grinds his hips back; letting his lips fall open and his eyes flutter shut.

 

 _Oh yeah_.

 

His hand goes to his throat, draws down the sweaty skin and before he knows it, his fingers are pinching his nipple and that-

 

 _Fuck_.

 

That's never happened before.

 

He's showing off and it's only for one pair of eyes, for one unknowingly dark influence from the seemingly disinterested guy at the front.

 

Louis has to swallow down his arousal; wincing at the surge in his shorts. Thankfully he still has another layer to go before he's in his thong but _fuck_. He's semi-hard already and he's being watched by the whole room.

 

He glares at the man to blame, the cool, rich Mummy's boy.

 

Louis knows he is, he knows the type he's seen them before in here, wasting away their overpaid pounds. Just the attitude alone spells it out. The guy takes a drink from a tray delivered by a stunning server but his gaze doesn't falter from Louis.

 

He has to move before he's pinned into place and before he gets ideas about dancing the pole after all.

 

_She sits beside me like a silhouette Hard candy dripping on me ’til my feet are wet And now she’s all over me, it’s like I paid for it It’s like I paid for it, I’m gonna pay for this_

 

His hand cups his own dick as he struts over to the builders, thumbs slipping under the band of the boxers teasingly, earning him a roar of appreciation. Others surge towards the stage, some saunter more coolly over to his new position but he can't help looking back; finding the gaze still upon him.

 

It catches his breath, the focus and intensity. He doesn't remember this guy ever looking at him this way before despite his previous visits. Visits that Louis knows all about because his entourage are rather handsy with the private dancers; a little disrespectful and sometimes having to be taken out but this one- the intense one- just hangs at the back and watches it all go on, never leaving until the club closes.

 

Louis tips his hips side to side; turns and throws his torso down to snap himself in half; giving the audience exactly what they want.

 

His ass. Bare, apart from the tiny G-string; fully exposed in his bent position.

 

He grins; breath thrusting out of his lungs as his body trembles with the adrenaline of it; as he gets off on the high of knowing everybody wants him and can't actually have him.

 

He straightens again, skipping teasingly around the stage only to shimmy his ass at the crowd before returning to he pole and repeating his arch against it, mouth wide open this time, a tongue poked into his cheek.

 

He knows he's pushing the limit, he knows he's being a downright filthy tease. And this time when his gaze draws back to the lap of a certain stranger, he feels a burning victory at knowing he's made someone hard.

 

And not just anyone but this too-cool-for-school rich frat boy.

 

_It’s none of your, it’s none of your “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” (it’s none of your, none of your) “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” “I’m having your baby, it’s none of your business” (it’s none of your, none of your)_

 

It's over in the next second; Louis running off stage before a stage-invasion breaks out and he's breathless as he towels himself off; trying to get his heartbeat under control.

 

He wants to do a private dance. But he only wants to do it for one person.

 

//

 

Louis hovers behind the curtain in the private dance room; taking deep breaths to remind himself that he can get out of this at any second. There's a panic alarm and his security man is right outside but the thing that scares him the most is that he doesn't _want_ to escape.

 

He knows nothing about the man he's about to perform his first private dance to; but he knows he wants to fix that hard-on he put in his lap.

 

Louis steps out from behind the curtain with that thought in his mind. That he caused this handsome stranger to get that hard.

 

His eyes go over him slowly as he sprawls back on the sofa; arms propped on the back and legs folded before him. Louis' eyes dip to his trousers; the place he knows he affected.

 

"Need that fixed?" He asks.

 

The guy's gaze hasn't left him and it's strangely addictive the way he just sits there, all important and pretending like he's unaffected when Louis knows; he _knows_ he can get him to come undone in the ten minutes it takes to do this dance.

 

"What's your name?" The man asks and his voice is deep. But it's young. And Louis' thought about him being in a fraternity is cemented in that second. He smirks. He's a sophomore but he's had bigger fish to fry.

 

"Tommo the Tease," he licks his lips. "Want to pick a song?"

 

"I'm Harry. I want something slow."

 

Louis selects a song and checks himself. Cropped football jersey over shiny, tight shorts and a plastic replica football helmet to disguise his face. Harry had requested it specifically so Louis knows he's in the Uni team. It gives him a hot kind of thrill to know the guy sat there throws balls around while Louis studies in the same halls.

 

Louis likes a man who knows what he wants. And he normally abhors rich, cocky bastards like this one but he's already established nothing about tonight is _normal_. He finds some kind of sick pleasure in the way Harry bites his lip as he circles the pole in the private room; arms lifting to bare his torso in peeking flashes.

 

He begins to move; glancing over his shoulder and working his hips; hands brushing over his body as he stays coyly away from the seat.

 

"Am I allowed to touch?"

 

It's a common question. One that got answered before Harry even sat down but Louis knows plenty of customers who try their luck anyway, his colleagues have told him all about it. All it would take is one call of Paul's name and Harry is out.

 

"Nope," he replies with a sadistic smirk, lips twitching as he eyes the bulge in Harry's trousers. He swallows. "Gonna have to wait till you get home, rich boy."

 

Harry's eyes pin his sharply and Louis circles his hips, popping them forward and rolling his body; his hands drifting over his belly and teasing the material of his shortened top away from his chest.

 

"Touch yourself, then," he commands. "Please," he adds on more softly, a distraught kind of look on his face.

 

Louis enjoys it way too much. He slides off the helmet; pushing his damp fringe away from his eyes. He turns and bends low; settling his feet wider to give Harry a good show of his rear side; sinking to his knees to simulate fucking the floor; a favourite move of his.

 

He hears something but he doesn't know what it is, just knows that when he turns again, Harry's got a hand grasped around himself through his trousers and his lips are bitten red.

 

"Thought you were stronger than that," he challenges with a brow arch; sliding closer.

 

Harry's thighs settle wide apart, feet shuffling. He grunts and pushes the heel of his hand hard against the ridge between his legs but he obeys Louis' silent chastisement and curls his fingers around the inside of his thigh instead. Louis focuses on the way his fingertips press into that flesh; he focuses on how it might feel to bite him there or to flick his tongue.

 

He twists, mouth open and head dipping back while his back arches until he puts a hand down to bend crab-like; his shirt falling up around his neck.

 

"Take it off," Harry growls. "Slowly." He adds afterwards.

 

Louis' chosen a song that's perfect for the slow burn; he spends long minutes fisting the shiny material and scraping it over his chest before finally twisting and flicking it over his head; tossing it into the watching man's lap.

 

He glances to see what he's going to do with it and-

 

 _Fuck_.

 

He _does_. Harry picks it up and breathes it in; sniffs at Louis' sweaty and no doubt musky smell.

 

Jesus.

 

If he'd hoped not to get hard from this, his expectations were mis-placed. Harry's eyes zero in on the more-than-evident reaction in his skin-tight shorts and he licks his lips.

 

"Looks like someone else needs fixing," he drawls.

 

Louis ignores the accusation and the reaction of his own body; turning his back to bend once more, writhing his body as he rises; music seeping into his veins.

 

"That's real nice," Harry's voice threads among the notes; bleeds through the drum beat. "...Kitten."

 

The nick-name almost has Louis stopping short. He falters as it is; struggling to regain concentration. _Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck_.

 

Why is his dick even interested in that?

 

He glares, body whipping around to stalk closer.

 

"Don't you mean tiger?" He arches a brow indignantly.

 

Harry's smirk is beyond smug; eyes trailing down Louis' front as he purses his lips as though he's about to eat a particularly tasty cut of meat.

 

"No, I meant Kitten," he repeats calmly, a hand reaching out towards him.

 

Louis should step away; he shouldn't encourage contact but he's spell-bound and kind of curious as to what Harry will actually do. He brushes the backs of his fingers over Louis' nipple, quick and light; grinning as Louis' breath catches and the skin on his nipple wrinkles in pleased receipt.

 

"Mmm," Harry's smile is obnoxious, really. It makes Louis feel sick.

 

He's got sparkling eyes and dimples that carve deeply into his cheeks but he's anything but innocent. There's only one thing for it. He comes closer; legs straddling one of Harry's thighs as he circles his hips again; grasping the back of the chair as he looms over him with an acidic smile.

 

"Yeah, Fratboy?" He muses to himself as Harry's hand tightens around his inner thigh; as if controlling his urge to touch himself.

 

"Wanna get off?" Louis asks, licking his teeth. "Not allowed, are you? Not used to being told 'no'..."

 

Harry stays very still as Louis does something he has never done before. He turns and folds himself in two again; ass exposed to Harry in his shiny shorts; dick brushing Harry's bony knee and bringing some kind of hot rippling pleasure to his already-stiffening dick.

 

 _Fuck_. This was supposed to be driving _Harry_ crazy; not turning himself on! He pushes his ass back so that it smoothes over Harry's thigh; practically sitting himself in his lap.

 

"Like that, sports-star?" He murmurs more to himself.

 

He feels Harry's nose brush against his hair; glancing over his neck; followed the courageous flick of his tongue and it forces him out of his lap; thumbs pushing into his shorts band to push the restraining lycra off.

 

"Too fast for you?" Louis asks.

 

Harry looks half-fucked already; hand going straight back to his lap to cover his reaction despite Louis' previous warning.

 

"Slowly," Harry swallows thickly; hand stroking himself leisurely.

 

Louis' eyes dip there and return to his coolly; his thumbs pushing the material of his shorts over his hips only as he comes closer once more; slowing his twisting body to the music which has merged into something beautiful and haunting.

 

"Undress me," Louis stands over his thigh again, looking down.

 

Harry looks uncertain.

 

"What?"

 

"Take them off," Louis arches a brow. "As slow as you want."

 

He's wearing a tiny pouch underneath; something that he fears barely covers him now that he's hard in it but he has no choice but to finish this dance; he's getting paid for it.

 

The money he earns from this goes towards his student loan and living in accommodation where he doesn't have to worry about being robbed or raped and he doesn't mind the pay-off because he likes it, the dancing and the power he has over his audience.

 

But right now, he knows he's handing some of that power over. He knows that by allowing Harry to do something he should never let anyone do, he's giving him the advantage. The strange thing is, he doesn't care.

 

Harry leans up carefully; wriggling out of his stiff jacket to reveal wide, sleek shoulders encased in black. He's beautifully built, is the thing and if Louis wasn't about to make him come in his pants he might like a hold on those shoulders and a ride on his dick.

 

Harry's hands are big but they're inexplicably gentle despite his demeanour; despite his careful mask of indifference. There's something amazingly arousing about peeling away someone's layers to find their insides; all shaky and uncertain from a confidant facade.

 

"Never undressed a guy before?" Louis teases, tilting his head.

 

Harry looks up at him then; ripping the shorts down hard. The same hands curl around the back of his thighs and drag him forwards where Louis stumbles thanks to his legs being bound by his tight clothing and whatever he expects next; it's not the firm hand cupping his neck and holding him in place while soft lips push onto his needily.

 

Harry's moan nearly undoes him. He finds himself kissing back.

 

And- _oh_. Just oh.

 

It's over as soon as it's started, as though Harry had a point to prove that Louis' the one with the inexperience here, that he's the one with the difficulty in getting unwrapped and he thinks Harry's maybe right to point that out but he's lost for a moment; body buzzing and mind blank of anything except the feel of his lips.

 

He staggers back; twisting the clingy material off his legs and tossing it away.

 

"Wanted to keep those," Harry says then, breaking the fragmented atmosphere. Not silent for the music that's playing, still, but uneasy and fraught.

 

Louis walks away from him slowly in his g-string, bending to pick up the shorts and looking over his shoulder.

 

Harry's undone his trousers. He has his hand down them; running over his heat which is still covered with one layer of underwear.

 

"I won't take it out," he promises darkly, tongue lathing over his lips. "Unless you suck dicks, too?"

 

The reminder of his payment to serve Harry knocks Louis back like a bucket of cold water thrown in his face. Because of _course_ this rich idiot doesn't want more than what a stripper can offer him for one night. Of course he doesn't care about anything but prostituting the hired help.

 

"If you want me to bite it off, sure," he sasses, seeking refuge back at the pole, four feet away.

 

"Come here, Kitten..."

 

Louis ignores him, bending over audaciously and using the pole to steady his weight in small hands. He pulses his hips back; exposing his hole. He hears the expected gasp, twists and dips low; knees bent as he rocks his hips suggestively; simulating bouncing on someone's dick.

 

Oh. _Oh yeah_.

 

His fingers twist around his nipple again as his eyes flutter shut; mouth falling open against hitched gasps. He pushes his ass back against the pole; dropping to his knees to thrust his hips forward and finish this thing once and for all.

 

His hand goes behind him; finds the place he knows Harry would love to be and he presses there gently with two fingertips; pressing the heel of his hand beside his dick in a gratuitous show of what he'd really like to be doing; crying out loudly with exaggerated 'ah's' and 'oh yeah's' to stimulate his client.

 

"Want you in my lap," is the gruff command as Louis opens his eyes; expecting Harry to have released by now but all he can see is the way Harry's hand has slid down into his briefs and is stroking frantically at his hardness.

 

Louis gets up reluctantly, gaze cool as he slinks over; fingers twisting his hair to tuft it up a bit in a way he knows guys like because it makes them think they've fucked him. He presses his knees to the outside of Harry's and knocks gently so that he places his knees together and Louis shuffles closer; straddling his hips.

 

He reaches for the back of the chair but his hand meets shoulder first; curling there into the smooth black material. He rocks his hips forwards; dick falling out of his little pouch and standing proudly in front of him, Harry's eyes fastened avidly onto it; as though he hasn't seen naked dick before and Louis wonders briefly if he hasn't; if he's some closeted football star with secret gay tendencies who's too afraid to come out. He knows the outline like clockwork.

 

Harry's throat pushes out helpless, low growls and higher-pitched whines; his head is thrown back. His neck is exposed and Louis wants to kiss it but he _can't_. He can't suck the bruises into that beautiful tanned skin the way he aches to, he's not _allowed_.

 

"Please," Harry whispers and it's broken, a heartbreaking plea for something Louis isn't sure of.

 

He looks down, startled by the agonising look on Harry's face, the tears at the edges of his eyes and the emptiness inside those green orbs.

 

Something deep down inside him knows what to do. In the absurdity of the moment, among the debauchery and hard sex he's so accustomed to; Louis finds his hands cupping around Harry's face tenderly in juxtaposition; instinctively comforting as he thumbs lightly over his cheeks; head tilting and lowering for a kiss.

 

It's gentle and far-too-sweet for the circumstances but it stills Harry beneath him as he kisses back; equally meaningful in the way he softly sucks at Louis' lips and then he's coming; kiss broken to allow Harry's sounds of pleasure release.

 

Louis realises his mistake the second he pulls back; his eyes avidly searching Harry's face for the reaction to hitting his peak. It's so beautiful and yet broken somehow. He looks almost pained by the intensity of his orgasm. As though this isn't something he experiences very often.

 

Louis slips from his lap; wrist quickly circled in long fingers before he can dash away.

 

"Wait..."

 

Louis gulps because he's gone too far this time. This is much more than going a bit over-the-top on stage; spurred on by one man's gaze on him. This is something completely different and he'd get sacked on the spot if his boss found out.

 

"I have to go," he pulls his wrist from Harry's grip and gives him one last look before he vanishes behind the curtain.

 

The image of the man sat there haunts him because it's not the cool, rich sugar-Daddy sat there when he looks last. It's a boy with an untold story and a seemingly aching heart.

 

//

 

 

Louis loves to dance.

 

When he's not working he can often be found at the nearest party, even the boyish frat ones with more half-naked girls than the Playboy mansion.

 

Louis doesn't exactly go to the parties to get off. If he happens across someone who's up for a mutual blow-job then he'll take it, but thanks to his study schedule and his work rota he doesn't have time for a steady boyfriend.

 

He can be found though; hand aloft with a cup of beer; dancing a little aimlessly by the edge of the pool. He can be found; eyes closed and smile painted on his lips as he lives the music, lips moving to sync with the words of the song.

 

Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps him sane; being able to absorb the tranquillity that comes with being on your own amongst hundreds of other people.

 

Tonight his friend Calvin had taken an early diversion into one of the upstairs bedrooms in the mansion of the party they'd  snuck into; having met a girl by chance that he's met a few times in their party circuit.

 

Louis hasn't been to this house before, it's far too rich for his usual tastes. Far too heterosexual. But he can't be fussy when it comes to party invitations; even if he wasn't _strictly_ invited. Which he gets reminded of as he carefully slides along a packed hallway in search of the kitchen to refill his beer.

 

" _You_ weren't invited..."

 

Louis freezes, tripping into the wide space of the kitchen where a hub of activity is focused around the drinks table. The corner he's managed to fall into is quiet and houses only one body; leaned up against the counter.

 

 _Harry_.

 

His hair is tousled but still incredibly coiffed, really. He looks like he might have a personal stylist. But why is he here of all places? He's wearing silk trousers with an appliqué dragon on them and a black shirt. Silk trousers. _To a frat party._

 

"Harry."

 

It's all he can manage in the circumstances since shock has fried his brain. Along with how good Harry looks, of course But he won't admit to that.

 

"Kitten," Harry smirks because he knows it annoys him.

 

Louis blinks, licking his lips. He hadn't expected this, really. Hadn't expected to ever bump into one of his customers and especially not one he-

 

"If you're calling me that because you don't want to call me _Tommo_ , then-"

 

"No," Harry cuts over him, a smug smile gracing his lips.

 

He's so languid and at ease. Louis wonders for a  second whether this is Harry's house. It would certainly go with the rich image; but perhaps not the slightly alternative vibe Louis gets from him. The decor is far too straight to house a gay.

 

"I call you it because I like it," Harry explains further of his choice of nickname.

 

Louis glances over at the drinks table.

 

"I only came to get a beer."

 

"But you weren't invited," Harry repeats, pushing away from the counter with his own glass. Louis' eyes flick to it before shifting back to Harry, whose cheeks are flushed with apparent intoxication.

 

"You forgot my name on the guest list," Louis braves it out.

 

Harry stops near him; hip sinking to slouch a bit.

 

"I don't know your real name," he points out, with a tiny slur.

 

Louis isn't sure whether to tell him. If he comes to the club again then...

 

"Louis," he lifts his chin defiantly. _Fuck it all to hell_. If Harry knows his name the next time he comes into the club to watch some boys strip off their clothes then it makes no difference to him.

 

Harry offers him the glass of what appears to be whiskey on ice.

 

Louis shakes his head.

 

"I'm just getting a beer if I'm not getting kicked out."

 

Harry's lips quirk.

 

"Why would I kick you out? You're  a beautiful dancer..."

 

"You do realise you're at a level of drunk that I wouldn't believe anything you said?" Louis muses.

 

"I'm not drunk," Harry's face morphs into almost-comical affrontation. "I'm just a bit...fuzzy, that's all."

 

"Fuzzy comes before unconscious," Louis lectures amusedly, looking towards the drinks table once more.

 

"Fine," Harry waves a hand at him. "Go get your beer, heathen."

 

"Wait," Louis frowns, twisting as Harry nudges by him to walk down the hall. "You're the one who's on the football team and you're calling _me_ heathen?"

 

Harry twists around the edge of the stair-case and grips the banister to haul himself up since there are so many writhing bodies blocking the way. Louis rolls his eyes and elbows past a few of them in pursuit.

 

"Just because I play a sport doesn't mean-"

 

"It most certainly does!" Louis argues hotly; treading on a foot by accident and apologising to the owner quickly."Most bloody masculine thing you can do is play for the team."

 

"It's not heathen, though," Harry retorts, seemingly confused as he comes onto the landing. "Why did I come up here?"

 

Louis snorts.

 

"To pee probably. The amount you've drunk..."

 

Harry swings around, confused features drawn together in a strangely cute fashion but Louis doesn't get much chance to tease him because Harry staggers forward and sweeps an arm around his waist; leaning down to press alcohol-stained lips to his.

 

It's a petty echo of the kiss they shared at the club but Louis' somehow willing to accept any kinds of kisses from Harry, even slightly wet, drunken ones.

 

"What are you-you can't just _maul_ me..."

 

Harry kisses him again; this time earning a quiet whimper and a weakening in Louis' resolve. He melts a bit in Harry's arms as he kisses him back.

 

"Can I get another dance?" Harry arches a brow with a far-too self satisfied smirk on his face.

 

Louis wants to push him away but can't find the motivation to do so.

 

"No freebies," Louis answers, eyes dropping from Harry's as insecurity creeps up on him. Again he's reminded of exactly what (and only) Harry wants from him.

 

"I'll pay you," Harry promises. "I've got money in my room..."

 

"Don't tell the whole party," Louis sighs. "And anyway, I'm not a thing to be bought and purchased like you're probably used to. Some of us have morals."

 

Harry snorts out a wet laugh.

 

"You work in a  strip club, what kind of morals do you have?"

 

Louis grits his teeth against a sharp retort, shaking his head once with a wince.

 

"You're right," he flicks a brow up carelessly. "I'm a moral-less human. Guess you won't be needing to talk to me anymore then?"

 

Louis twists from his arms to head somewhere. The mouth of the stairs is blocked so he heads along the corridor towards the bedrooms, thinking maybe he can find one; or find a guy floating who's looking to dive into one together and then he can forget about the whole thing once he's got his dick in someone else hand.

 

"For fuck's sake..."

 

It's muttered, low and dark and then his wrist is encapsulated in warm, sticky fingers and he's being dragged unceremoniously down the hallway into the quiet part of the house.

 

A key is dug out of Harry's trouser pocket and inserted into the lock, flicked and retracted, the door spilling open. Louis slowly steps over the thresh-hold, only to be rushed by Harry who quickly secures the key in the lock.

 

Louis glances at him bemusedly from where he's been crowded against the back of the door.

 

"Want to watch you dance," Harry says before pinning Louis' wrists to the door meaningfully.

 

Louis pushes his body away from the surface, hips first in an attempt to free himself but all he does is brush his front against Harry's and the difference in their clothing hits him right in that moment. His t-shirt and smart new red joggers with white stripes on the sides of the legs clash with Harry's soft-glam look but when his eyes meet Harry's, somehow none of it matters.

 

"I'm not dancing," Louis tells him resolutely, eyes peeking up under dark lashes. "Not unless you're dancing with me."

 

Harry spins away, stamping across the room to flip open his record player, finger sliding along the record collection housed beside it until he tugs out a vinyl in a battered card sleeve; settling it on the player and resting the needle into it's grooves.

 

The unmistakeable crackle fills the room; sultry tones easing out and filling Louis with a some kind of emotion he's not felt before. The music he dances to; it's hot rock, usually. Or slow, tantalising melodies. Not this. Not raw, sexy sound.

 

Harry's arms come around him and part of him wishes they were doing this downstairs, where everyone cold see them.

 

"What's the matter rich boy? Don't want the cheerleaders to know you're queer?" Louis baits with a bite into Harry's ear-lobe.

 

Harry sways them away from the door; one hand sliding down to cup Louis' ass-cheek.

 

"Everyone knows I love ass," he promises lowly. "I'm not hiding anything."

 

 _Except me_ , Louis thinks as his lashes flutter to his cheeks; Harry's hand taking ownership of his behind and instigating a reaction in him he isn't expecting. Molten lava, mostly; Burning, thick heat.

 

"Wanna go downstairs so I can show you off?" Harry murmurs, breath sticky with the haze of whiskey. He noses into Louis' hair, the way he did that night Louis danced for him and Louis can't help the memories that flood him; of how hard he got dancing for him; of how incredible Harry looked when he came.

 

Harry's hum as he hauls Louis closer tells Louis he's felt the resurgence in his dick. He sighs; holding on tightly to Harry's wide shoulders as he carefully hitches his knee up in the hope it'll latch onto Harry's hip.

 

Harry's hand captures it instead; pulling Louis' thigh gently over his side only to lean into him that bit more; lips brushing tentatively against Louis'.

 

"Is kissing forbidden?"

 

Louis swallows.

 

"Only when I'm working."

 

Harry kisses him then; wantonly, with a little groan in his throat that reminds Louis he's already kissed Harry at work and maybe that's what the other man finds so pleasing about all of this; that Louis has already broken his own rules.

 

They dance, but it's more like writhing, more like two bodies grinding together once they find a surface to steady themselves against. Louis manages to get the buttons undone on Harry's pretty blouse and brushes his hands inside the silky material; thumbs grazing over his nipples.

 

"Louis," Harry cries throatily.

 

"Tell me what you want, rich-boy," Louis murmurs, curling lower to bite Harry's collar-bones and lick over his nipples.

 

"Want to taste you, Kitten," Harry mumbles in his husked voice. "Want to be deep in you when you come..."

 

It's partly the alcohol talking Louis knows, because nobody is brave enough to state their true desires the way Harry just has, in such an unapologetic manner. But there's something about the starkness of it, about the undeniable want that Harry's expressing. It makes Louis want an awful lot of things, too.

 

"Bed," Louis demands between kisses; hopping up into Harry's arms when the other man leans down to grasp his thighs to move them.

 

He's used to being manhandled; it's a side-effect of being small but the way Harry tosses him on the bed has him harder than he's ever been.

 

"Use me," Louis begs raspily, eyes avidly watching as Harry unfastens his posh silk trousers; ridding his shirt quickly afterwards and leaving him standing long and lean and near-naked in boxer-briefs that do nothing to hide his reaction.

 

He tilts his head as he watches Louis; moving slowly toward him as if remembering there is s soundtrack to their movements; as if he's actually drinking in the sight of Louis on his bed.

 

"Do I get to strip you this time?" Harry asks, one knee pressing between Louis'.

 

He wraps his arms around Louis' waist and shifts them both into the centre of the mattress, pressing their bodies together and letting their legs tangle.

 

"Go ahead, jock," Louis derides of Harry's request. "I'm all yours..."

 

Harry leans back, eyes assessing him quietly in that way that makes Louis' belly feel squiggly. He watches Harry's nostrils flare, his body tensing slightly and flexing the tone of muscle in his torso for Louis' viewing pleasure.

 

 _Very nice_. He could do a lot worse.

 

Louis lays his arms by his side, arching a brow in silent challenge.

 

"I like to do things slow," Harry says, brushing the backs of his fingers against Louis' t-shirt.

 

"Pretty sure your frat-boy pals are gonna be breaking this door down before long," Louis muses.

 

Harry frowns, fingers sneaking under the edge of his top and pushing fingertips against his hip, up his belly.

 

Louis' breath catches, his hips want to twist but he curls a foot around Harry's thigh to anchor himself, to keep his nerves steady.

 

"Come on then, rock star," Louis teases.

 

Harry delicately tugs the top upwards, leaning over to press kisses into Louis' skin, longing and reverent and completely inappropriate for what this is- _a drunken party hook-up_. Louis' hands unconsciously cup his head, fingers threading into his short; sleek hair and ruining the style into messy waves as Harry's lips travel up his torso.

 

"So many things I want to do to you..."

 

Louis gasps as sharp teeth edge against his puckered nipple, a hot tongue lathing there after to ease the sting.

 

"Get on and do them, then," he breathes; curling both legs around Harry's waist to press his hips into him; wanting to show the other man exactly how he feels about this tender approach.

 

Harry leans back to pull the t-shirt off; lifting it to his nose to smell it with a devilish grin.

 

"Still smell good," he muses.

 

Louis' throat feels thick as he tries to swallow. He reaches out to glance the backs of his fingers against the ridge in Harry's shorts, earning him a hiss of satisfaction and a burning kiss.

 

Louis' trousers are trickier to rid, Harry having to slide off the bed to pull them away from Louis' ankles where the elastic cuffs cling to him and Harry's eyes roaming him with dark intention get him twitching in his pants.

 

He pushes his hands above his head; stretching out his body and twisting a bit to accentuate his waist.

 

"Told you to use me, rich-boy."

 

Harry leans his knees against the edge of the bed; hands curling around Louis' thighs before hauling him, rather roughly, towards him until their groins line up.

 

"Stop talking like a call girl," Harry tells him.

 

Louis shrugs, licking his lips as Harry leans over him to circle his wrists in those big hands; pressing them into the bed.

 

"I'm not beyond fucking you until you can't talk anymore," he promises darkly.

 

Louis squirms and lets out an embarrassing noise; turning his face to the side as his cheeks burn.

 

"Oh Kitten likes dirty talk, hm?" Harry sounds very pleased with himself, nudging his heat against Louis' thigh and he's only just realised that somewhere in the mix, Harry's lost his boxers.

 

He snaps his gaze back to where it should be, on the brunette god before him; towering over him masterfully.

 

"All talk no action," he pants; the effect of his jab lost in his breathiness.

 

He doesn't care much now; eyes glued to the thickness of Harry's arousal; surging beautifully up between his thighs, the tip brushing his belly when he bends over him.

 

"What do you like, Louis?"

 

Louis goes to reach for him, but Harry presses against his wrists as a reminder. His eyes meet the green ones dominated by dark pupils; his body throbs for wanting that flushed, hard dick _inside_.

 

He'd asked Harry the same question earlier and he hadn't expected to be asked it in return because he's the plaything here. He's the one underneath Harry's status and underneath his controlling body, begging to be filled.

 

Loud thuds start at the door causing Louis to tighten his legs around Harry's middle.

 

"Come on my stomach," he tells him quickly, figuring the quickest way to end this is for Harry to stroke himself off since he knows what he likes.

 

"You," Harry tells him, releasing one of Louis' hands.

 

Louis looks confused for a second.

 

Harry cups Louis' hand and shapes it around himself; letting out a shaky breath as his eyes close; jaw tightening in a pleasure-pain grimace.

 

"Yeah, like that," he murmurs, slowly shifting Louis' hand over his own hot skin.

 

Louis' entranced; blue eyes dancing over the vision in front of him, soft yet muscled planes of beautiful boy and hard need between his fingers. Harry releases his other hand and Louis sinks fingers into his hair as he curls over towards him; almost like he might collapse on top of him when he comes.

 

"Pretty, aren't you?" Louis muses, fingers threading into the soft mass. "Like to think you're in charge."

 

"I am," Harry gasps, rocking into Louis' hand weakly; tightening his own to instinctively bring Louis' digits tighter, too.

 

"Gonna taste me then, rich boy? Give me a lick while you're down there?"

 

Louis loses himself for a minute when Harry follows his command, sucking his tip into his mouth. He didn't expect him to obey; he's quite happy to be the one following instructions here but it's surprising and it's hotter than anything he's ever done so he doesn't question it, only massages Harry's scalp that little harder.

 

"Gonna make me mewl like a kitten, Harry?" He rasps, sliding his hips up a little; feet pressing into Harry's behind.

 

Harry hums around him and Louis flicks his wrist; changing angle.

 

The thudding outside is getting louder but so is the thudding in Louis' heart, drowning anything else out.

 

"Come on then, pretty rich boy," he goads.

 

Harry deep throats him, for uncountable seconds before fucking himself into Louis' hand _hard_ ; messy hair falling around his face and an uncontrolled breath spilling from his lips.

 

"Lou--o-oh!"

 

His voice breaks into cracked, papery whispers; broken words and gasps of air preceding the inevitable rainfall of sticky liquid; hitting Louis in hot splashes across his stomach and up his ribs.

 

He closes his eyes and tries to stave off his own release; ready to tamp it down just like last time but Harry's mouth tightens around him and it's shocked out of him; quick and intense and completely unexpected.

 

Harry collapses on him; cheek pressed into Louis' navel as Louis' fingers clutch into his hair.

 

The banging on the door rivals a battering ram.

 

"Tell your friends to fuck off," Louis manages to whisper.

 

Harry's huff of laughter tickles his stomach.

 

//

 

He's still thinking about it, a week later.

 

He and Harry hadn't exchanged numbers. Thanks to the jocks practically breaking down his door they'd both dressed quickly and Harry had presented himself albeit slightly flushed and in disarray; semen staining most of his clothing which Louis heard him get teased about raucously.

 

He still hadn't exposed Louis to the hoard.

 

The same hoard who come in on Friday night; rushing ahead of the slow one; the one with his hands in his trouser pockets and those square-toed boots on his feet.

 

Louis hated to admit to himself that he'd missed him. He hated to admit he felt any kind of affection at all towards the stunning man.

 

They had no place being together; they didn't match and their lives were nothing alike. Louis couldn't get those green eyes out of his mind.

 

"Are you doing privates?" Louis' boss asks him; causing him to snap his gaze away from the distraction of Harry entering the club and settling into an armchair at the front of the viewing platform; a seat he'd only taken the once before when Louis had danced practically for him alone.

 

"No," he replies swiftly. "You know I don't."

 

"You did, that once," Dan reminds him.

 

Louis licks his lips.

 

"One off," he replies. Because he doesn't want to do a private dance again, not for anyone. It holds too many memories- both good and bad.

 

He knows, deep down that all Harry wants from him is his dancing and his body. They don't have much more than that and he's fine with it. Really.

 

He's fine.

 

He sighs, knocking back the rest of his beer before twisting in his seat to get ready; to give his usual show.

 

"Hey."

 

He's about to hop off the stool when someone appears beside him; leaning into the bar and trapping him slightly in his place. He knows who it is; the waft of vanilla clues him off right away.

 

"Rich-boy," Louis glances at him.

 

"I do have  a name you know."

 

Louis shrugs.

 

"Maybe when it's appropriate I'll use it."

 

"What about when I'm giving you an orgasm?" Harry poses.

 

Louis thinks how audacious he is; how very cocky. Strangely, his dick likes the idea and twitches and something warm pools in his belly. Faint reminder of how he felt right before shooting down Harry's throat.

 

"Confident," Louis states, using the toe of one van to play with the excess material in Harry's trouser-leg. He's wearing an obnoxiously summery ensemble in white with red checks and he looks like he should be holidaying on a  yacht in the Maldives.

 

Harry smirks, leaning in, fingers tracing gently over Louis' jean-clad knee.

 

"Think I should be, all being said and done..."

 

Louis scoffs, swallowing when Harry's hand glides over his knee completely, settling on his thigh as he crowds a bit closer.

 

"So, can I make you come tonight, Louis?"

 

"On stage?" Louis lifts a brow, fighting the breathlessness of his lungs. "Not sure people need to see _that_ , Harold..."

 

"I do," he murmurs with a smile that pools his dimples.

 

Louis' hand itches to plant in the back of Harry's hair; short but incredibly sexy.

 

"Oh really?" Louis clings to his rebuffal. "You're pimping me out now?"

 

Harry's shaking his head, nosing into Louis' temple.

 

"I'll pay for you to just show me. I'll refund everyone's ticket and send them home."

 

Louis' lips twitch against a happy grin; his eyes crescenting until Harry leans back to look at him and then he schools his happiness at the claiming statement.

 

"Really, Harold? You'd send all these delightful people home just to exert your controlling nature?"

 

Harry's lips quirk. His eyes shine. His body language says 'you know it' but his lips remain closed.

 

"Can I kiss you?"

 

Louis knows he knows the answer. He's at work. He's not supposed to kiss anyone while he's at work but-

 

 _Well, okay_. Harry's kissing him anyway, hand now rather possessively curved around his thigh. Louis can't help the way he cups his neck and leans into it; a little pitchy whine escaping his throat.

 

"Nice to know you missed me."

 

Louis watches his curly lashes blink lazily over olive green eyes. He sees much more in that simple gesture than can possibly be intimated.

 

"The question is, did you miss me?" Louis muses, pursing his lips as he gently pushes Harry away; at least far enough to not get sacked.

 

"Think you can answer that one," Harry says.

 

Louis drops his gaze, lips flickering into a mildly bitter smile.

 

 _Yeah, he can_. And he knows the only reason Harry's missed him is because he's been without his fix of sex.

 

"You mean your other playboys were busy?" He slips off the stool with a cool brush of his shoulder against Harry's chest. "I have to get ready," he adds as he heads for the dressing rooms.

 

//

 

 

Louis deliberately ignores him.

 

If his first dance had been Harry-centric, then this one is the exact opposite.

 

And he's a little demon _(quite literally)_ in skimpy red sequined hot pants and little matching devils horns propped on his head but it means he can push the expression of his art a bit.

 

It means he can arch and thrust and shimmy to his heart's content.

 

He'd be a very strong man (and a liar) if he said he doesn't look at Harry once. He does look, flicking him glances as he roams the audience once he's flung himself off the stage; straddling one lucky man's lap.

 

Harry's eyes are very dark. His hands are clenched around the seat armrests and his jaw is incredibly tight.

 

Louis almost feels bad for punishing him when he hasn't really done anything wrong. They aren't dating. Louis has no claim over him.

 

And yet something clamours in his chest for the need to stake that claim. 

 

Not that guys were throwing themselves at Harry. Because despite his stunning good looks and impeccable style, he's still aloof. He's still shut off.

 

Only maybe...maybe not now. Not to _Louis_.

 

_Want you._

 

The words are mouthed slowly enough to decipher; to hear in his mind's depiction. The sentiment goes through his chest like an arrow, spearing his heart. 

 

Harry wants him. Probably only in the physical sense but the part of him that longs to be loved responds eagerly.  He twists away from the guy he's straddling, planning to head back to the stage.

 

His security guy is hovering, dealing with some over eager punters who are trying to grope the server's asses and the punter who's been between Louis legs maybe knows that as he reaches out to span his slim waist with calloused hands.

 

Louis presses against his arms, backing away as he looks around for Mitch or Paul; finding both men busy elsewhere.

 

"Sorry sweetheart. You don't get to touch the merchandise...:

 

The guy tugs him closer as Louis presses his hands into his face instead, using his strength now to pull away. Two other guys with the punter crowd in and squeeze his butt and thigh; hands dipping into places he hasn't given permission for them to be.

 

It doesn't happen very often and he usually has back up but he's a bit frightened as he yelps;

 

"Hey fuck off! That's not yours to touch!"

 

He looks frantically around, eyes zeroing on a seat he knows too well but his heart misses a beat when he sees it empty. Harry's gone. And he's unprotected with no one around to-

 

"Think you heard him the first time."

 

One of the punter's friends is pulled back by the shoulder as Harry drives himself between him and Louis, ripping the other man's hand off his leg.

 

"Like he said. Not yours..."

 

If either man decides to argue, they could both end up in one hell of a mess but luckily control of the situation is soon restored as Paul and Mitch rush over to take the two guys out.

 

It leaves Harry glaring at the man with his hands around Louis waist.

 

"Not yours." Harry says again.

 

"Oh yeah?" The guy gets up, releasing Louis to go toe to toe with the other man. "Is he yours then? You like dating sluts?"

 

Harry's eyes goes dark and his whole body tenses before the punch is thrown; solid and hard against the other man's cheek.

 

"Don't fucking call him that," he slurs slowly as he shakes out his fist; the man on the floor quickly intercepted by Mitch as Paul checks on Louis.

 

"Let's get you back stage," his security man tells him.

 

"Wait," Louis twists as he's being led away, eyes searching out a certain tall figure. "I want Harry to come with me."

 

Harry winces as he clenches and unclenches his hand; following slowly after them.

 

//

 

He's shaking.

 

It starts as he undresses himself and it gets worse as he scrubs himself clean of those pawing hands; his thighs sore from the rough cleaning of his skin.

 

He puts on a gown and expects to be seduced; he expects Harry to coax him into kissing so he's kind of stunned when the other man simply moves to hug him; his jacket shucked off to reveal a plain white shirt tucked into his red check trousers.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

It sounds like the stupidest question of all as Louis curls into his arms and wishes the trembling would go away.

 

"No," he admits on a wadded throat, swallowing the stinging shame away. 

 

"I'm sorry Louis.. .I'm sorry you had to endure that...I thought it was-"

 

 _What you wanted_.

 

The words are unspoken.

 

"They're not meant to touch me it's one of the rules, it's -"

 

"I'm sorry. "

 

Harry feels like he didn't do enough. Louis sighs against his chest.

 

"Thank you."

 

Harry's hands smooth over his back.

 

"What for?"

 

"All your friends were there and you don't want them to know about me but you - you still told those assholes that I'm with you."

 

Harry swallows, eyes drifting over Louis' face as he looks up.

 

"It's not that I don't want them to know."

 

Louis wants to pull away now before he gets addicted to the warm comfort of Harry's chest and the feel of his arms around him. Harry's not giving him an inch to move though. 

 

He feels Harry's sigh glance through his damp hair.

 

"I was being selfish and trying to keep you as mine."

 

He leans forward and presses a kiss into the vee of Harry's shirt, onto his bare chest.

 

"You mean they'd want a go with me?" he teases.

 

Harry's lips tilt downwards at the reminder that Louis is only seen as someone's toy.

 

"I don't have other playboys."

 

Louis presses his lips together, eyes still at Harry's chest.

 

"Can't say I have a string of rich boys myself." He quips. 

 

Harry's face shifts from aggrieved concern into something lighter. 

 

"No?"

 

Louis scoffs.

 

"I'm not a prostitute. "

 

"I know but...I thought maybe..."

 

If Harry is expressing insecurity Louis doesn't know how to process it.

 

"I've only broken the rules for one rich cocky bastard lately," he adds with a rueful smile.

 

Harry's swallow tells him more than any words.

 

"So does that mean my defending of your honour was justified?"

 

Louis barks out a laugh, rolling his eyes.

 

"I hate it when guys touch me like that;" he shudders as he pulls out of Harry's embrace.

 

Harry looks lost for a moment and then sits down.

 

Louis looks over his shoulder, noticing Harry's attention focusing on his knuckles.

 

"Did you hurt your hand when you hit him?"

 

Harry looks up with a sheepish smile.

 

"Maybe."

 

Louis moves to fetch the first aid kit and quickly knees onto the sofa, straddling his lap. Harry looks surprised until Louis starts unpeeling an alcohol wipe and then he relaxes back.

 

Louis carefully cleans his hand and wraps it with a small bandage.  He notices the way Harry's good hand circles his ankle casually; the way his injured one slides onto his thigh once he's finished and Louis' cupping his face again; thumbs sliding against his cheeks.

 

"My hero," he murmurs, tilting his head to kiss him and it's different this time. It's like trust and acceptance is passing through their lips. It's as if something has shifted and maybe it has because Harry punched out that guy to protect him; to save him from harm's way.

 

He had curled Louis up in his arms and held him when he needed it just a few moments ago and now he's kissing him beautifully soft and real; lips clinging to the feeling of when they mesh. 

 

"Kitten," he whispers as he pulls away.

 

Louis doesn't reprimand him for the name; he simply reaches for the pink case which houses Harry's phone which is laid on the couch beside him where he let it slide earlier.

 

He types in his name and number snapping a quick picture of them together ; putting on a pout and brushing his hand into his hair for the aesthetic. 

 

"That can be my new screensaver" Harry comments in a deep voice. 

 

"Don't forget to call me," Louis murmurs.

 

//

 

He goes home with Harry, not keen to share his crappy dorm when Harry lives in a mansion.

 

He doesn't want to be alone tonight and Harry's seems to know it instinctively if the way he's taken Louis' hand and led him to the taxi is anything to go by.

 

Louis pulls the sleeves of his jumper over his hands in the car; body relaxing in increments as they get closer to home.

 

"We don't have to do anything," Harry tells him as he walks into his bedroom slipping off his jacket and moving to the record player.

 

He picks a record and settles it to play.

 

The music is pulsing; sensuous but soft enough to ignore if they want to talk.

 

Louis doesn't know what he wants to do. Except -

 

Maybe he'd like to lay on the bed with Harry and just listen to his heartbeat and tangle fingers into the front of his shirt. Maybe.

 

"Uh...do you want to-?" Harry sweeps a hand to gesture the bed.

 

Louis walks over and sits on the edge, carefully moving himself to sit on it fully; back resting against the headboard.

 

He flicks his eyes to the place they'd fallen last time when Harry had fucked his hand and sucked him dry.

 

"We can just talk..."

 

Harry climbs next to him, crossing his checked trouser clad legs.

 

Louis snorts. 

 

"Can you at least put something normal on if I'm supposed to take you seriously?"

 

Harry rolls back off the bed and strips his shirt and trousers in mere seconds and climbs back up.

 

"Better?" He asks as he fixes his dark green gaze on Louis.

 

Louis can only lick his lips and nod.

 

//

 

He gets to lay on Harry's chest.  He gets to listen to his heart. 

 

It's racing right now, pattering a little wildly considering his cool facade.

 

Louis hitches his knee up a bit as two long fingers - _minus the chunky rings_ \- twist inside him.

 

He's pretty mindless and he's not sure how he got there but he's too far gone to go back.

 

He whimpers at the feel of Harry's arousal burning the inside of his thigh. He tries to rock his hips to gain friction against Harry's toned hips.  He has a great body is the thing. All lithe and muscular with soft looking skin and dark tattoos. 

 

When Louis flicks out his tongue to taste him it's salty and inexplicably smooth. When he purses his lips he can kiss the skin instead; tonguing lazily at Harry's nipple making the skin ripple and making Harry gasp.

 

When he lifts his head to press more kisses to his sternum Harry's hand splays on his back; fingers pumping gently in and out.

 

"Like that Kitten?"

 

Harry's voice is deep, rumbling through his chest making Louis sigh weakly as he tries to push his knees apart to straddle Harry's hips.

 

"Hey let me," Harry murmurs, stroking his back. "Want you to feel nice."

 

Louis feels _more_ than nice.  He rolls his hips again; relishing the silky smooth feel of Harry's hot skin. He makes another noise. More throaty and less weak.

 

Harry hums his agreement, rubbing himself against the inside of Louis' thigh.

 

Louis looks up, lips fallen apart and cheeks hot.  He doesn't know if he has the words. Harry bends his head to kiss him, the gentle hand on his back moving to cup the back of his neck to pull him in; his tongue as long as his fingers and the thought of being filled with Harry flashes through his mind.

 

"Harry..." 

 

He presses a kiss to his chin, teeth biting the skin gently. 

 

"Stop testing me," Harry scissors the fingers inside of him in retaliation.

 

Louis gasps as another joins them carefully, far more gently than he might have assumed.

 

Harry had checked three times that he was okay with this because of his experience earlier of being manhandled. He'd told him he wanted Louis to have nice touches to counteract the grabbing sleazes.

 

"Slip it in," Louis whispers, wriggling up a bit to press a kiss into his plump lips; parted and red.

 

Harry looks young this way, naked and turned on. His eyes are dark and his hair is tousled across his forehead and Louis wants to tidy it and wreck it even more in equal measure. Harry _feels_ incredible; fingers deep in and coaxing him higher.

 

Harry shakes his head with a heavy swallow.

 

"Want you to come like this."

 

Louis had feared that was the case. He dips his chin, pushing his cheek into the hollow of Harry's throat.

 

"I'll take of you, Kitten," Harry promises huskily.

 

"Tell me what you want me to do."

 

It sounds far too much like he'll do anything; that he's used to doing anything he's told. Again, Louis doesn't much care.

 

"I want you to come," Harry replies slowly, like he's biting out the words from his throat. "Hard. On my stomach."

 

Louis chokes a bit; rutting into his belly; pushing back on those glorious fingers. Harry nudges the tip of his thumb against his rim where it's sensitive from the stretch but it's not painful; it's strangely nice; kind of bruising in a claiming way.

 

"Want you to remember me tomorrow."

 

The gruff sound of Harry's voice has Louis pressing his hands gently into the mattress underneath Harry's shoulders; turning to clutch them when Harry changes his angle to brush something that tingles like crazy.

 

"Wh-what-wow," Louis stutters, Harry's heat a distant distraction against his thigh and two fingertips stroking over his hole slowly; as slow as Harry asked him to strip, probably.

 

"You've never been touched like this?" Harry asks; hot breath panting into Louis' wild hair; his expression of surprise almost breaking the moment.

 

Louis desperately tries to grind back to repeat the sensation; Harry's hand drifting to knead the meat of his thigh.

 

"Gonna come so hard, Louis," he promises; twisting his fingers in that way again that feels like too much; and not enough.

 

Louis makes 'ah' noises that spur Harry on and it's the rhythmic stroke over the hidden pleasure-spot that has Louis pushing hard against his belly for reprieve.

 

"Fuck... _fuck_!"

 

"Wish I could," Harry grinds out of his throat.

 

Louis' hands tighten around his shoulders, pulling himself upwards and Harry downwards to fit; to meet in the middle as he chases his high.

 

He feels Harry's arm go around him, claiming press of fingers forgotten as he pushes his fingers deep; drawing them out and thrusting them back in for more; squelching against the lube he'd poured earlier.

 

Louis shakes his head against the insane feeling uncurling within him, all dark and sweet and overwhelming. It's so intense he almost doesn't want to let go.

 

"C'mon Kitten," Harry coaxes in his rough sex voice. "Paint me."

 

Louis gasps; body unspinning from a tight, tight spool in petty seconds; his orgasm shocked out of him hard and fast and unexpected.

 

"Oh!"

 

He tries to lean back to take a hand around himself to _aim_ but Harry's arm snakes around him, keeping him tight and close; their bodies rolling slightly to the side so Harry can kiss him; hot lips claiming his and tongue licking in between them as he pumps hot liquid out between their torsos.

 

Louis' eyes roll back as Harry grinds into his thigh; more hot spurts erupting between them; making one hell of a sticky mess to clean up. He grins at the idea; breathy laugh falling from his lips. That's the best orgasm he's ever had, hands down.

 

It takes a few moments for either of them to speak.

 

"What's funny?"

 

Louis blinks his eyes open; watching Harry leaning over him with strong arms around his waist.

 

"Nothing," he breathes, licking his lips. Harry's eyes are fixed on his mouth.

 

"You're amazing."

 

It's monotone, but it's the most meaningful thing Harry has ever said to him. He's afraid to say anything back in case he says the wrong thing or ruins the moment with sentiment and attachment when all Harry wants is a dancer to entertain him when he feels like it.

 

He swallows down the words clinging to his throat; lurching up from his heart and he gently presses a kiss to Harry's lips.

 

"Want you in me," he rasps.

 

Harry's eyes flick to his; little digs above his brows as he pouts; curly lashes fluttering.

 

"Sleep first?" He bargains.

 

Louis nods and Harry curls up on him this time; arms tight around his waist.

 

//

 

 

Louis can still feel him.

 

He snaps his hips; rolling them slower as his lips part, tongue circling their softness suggestively as he cups himself.

 

He wants to feel Harry's gaze on him the way he felt his hands on him last night. He wants the heat and assuredness of those hands to circle his waist. He wants them to grasp at his thighs as he's split open around his dick.

 

Harry was hot all over; most especially inside him where he'd filled him thickly.  Louis drops to his knees to remember how he straddled Harry's hips as he rode him; those big hands holding him steady.

 

He remembers the sensation  with stark clarity, feels the mildly bruising burn against his rim. He wonders if his skin is flushed there, if his audience will notice when he stands and turns his back to them to grind his ass into their faces.

 

He smirks with the knowledge of it, strutting up and down the stage as he flings off his top and rips off his Velcro'd bottoms in quick succession, forgetting the 'tease' in his name and causing the crowd to roar in appreciation.

 

He drops to the floor; fucking it twice before rolling onto his back and arching his hips up, knees spread wide.

 

It reminds him of the best part of last night. When he'd got a bit weak and tired riding Harry the other man had rolled them; masterful in his execution and then Louis had been beneath him; being fucked into all hot and hard and it had been _mind blowing_.

 

He cups himself again now to cover the twitch of his dick; flipping back up to finish his routine but his mind is still in the moment from last night. It's still reliving the way it felt to tighten his thighs around Harry's waist. He's still thinking about how hard Harry felt right up until the last moment.

 

His eyes flutter shut as it comes back in full colour behind his eyelids the way Harry had kissed him right before he came; moaning his pleasure into Louis' mouth right onto his tongue.

 

Louis wanted Harry on his tongue. Wanted to feel his salty release sink down his throat.  He wanted Harry to curl him up and hold him the way he had after they'd fucked.

 

The music has stopped and he's in his final pose but he doesn't know how. There's an emptiness in his belly that he can't explain. The same way he can't explain the fluttering in his gut as his eyes flick over the crowd and fall on a familiar silhouette.

 

He's standing at the back in a dark green velvet suit, hands pocketed.  He looks cool, he looks completely unaffected. Louis hopes he's not. His straining heart hopes beyond hope that he's as affected as Louis is.

 

He drops his gaze away and turns for the dressing room.

 

//

 

 

Harry's waiting for him as he opens the dressing room door.  He has to share the room with his rowdy colleagues who are all hyped up on the adrenaline of performing while Louis tries to calm his sometimes frazzled mind.

 

It's as he opens the door to flick his eyes over the man standing directly opposite leaned on the wall with his hands tucked in his trouser pockets; that his friend Dean decides to swoop by, smacking his ass. 

 

"Best butt in the world, baby!" Dean whoops with a cackle.

 

Louis presses his lips together as his eyes connect with a sober pair; an emotion crossing that young handsome face that he can't quite decipher. 

 

"Sorry about him," Louis excuses even though he doesn't have to.

 

He goes to step out of the hyper activity of the dressing room but Dean doubles back, grinning at Harry over Louis shoulder.

 

"He's got the best butt right?" He asks.

 

Louis closes his eyes and jabs his elbow back swiftly to catch Dean in the ribs.

 

"Shut up Deano."

 

"Hey. He needs to know," Dean points out, eyeing Harry distrustfully. "You can't go out with a guy who doesn't understand the gift of which he's about to receive..."

 

"Already received it," Harry says. 

 

Which-

 

Louis glares. That's not helping at all.

 

"Thought you were more selective Tommo," Dean ruffles his hair.  "Not sure this one's earned it."

 

Louis turns and shunts Dean gently away.

 

"Not that you care but it's up to me who I date. "

 

Dean smirks, eyes narrowing.

 

"So you _are_ dating?"

 

Louis sighs and steps through the doorway, pulling the door up hard.

 

"Let's just go," he says to Harry.

 

The door snatches open briefly for Dean to throw out obnoxious blow job gestures and kissing noises and Louis grabs Harry's wrist to tug him away.

 

"So," Harry lets his hand slide from his pocket, fingers brushing Louis' wrist until the other man lets go and then Harry tangles their fingers together.

 

It's new for them but it doesn't feel awkward. If anything it feels nice.

 

Louis looks over his shoulder. 

 

"You going to finish that thought?"

 

Harry's gaze is fixed low; around about where Louis' jean-clad ass is.

 

Louis feels heat skitter up his spine; twisting into his belly.  Maybe Harry's remembering every second of last night, too.

 

"Um. "

 

Louis takes it as a no and shivers as they get outside to find a taxi. 

 

"You the kind to let me warm you up?" Harry asks as he unbuttons his thick, regal looking winter coat.

 

"Maybe," Louis flicks his eyes up to the older guy's face.

 

Harry shucks his coat off; surprising Louis.  He expected to be wrapped into him; coat surrounding them both.

 

"Here," Harry holds the coat out for him to slip into. Louis eyes his severely inadequate velvet suit and notices the tremor in his hands as his breath billows out.

 

It's truly freezing. He must be crazy to give up his coat. Or desperate.   _For sex probably_. Louis taking his coat is probably silent acceptance to being his toy again tonight.

 

"So that guy."

 

Louis narrows his eyes.

 

"Which one?"

 

"The one who smacked your bum."

 

"Oh him," Louis chucks out a breath. "Dean."

 

A taxi pulls up and that conversation is delayed while Harry opens Louis' door like every other time they've done this. 

 

"Dean," Harry says as they sit and belt up.

 

"Yeah." Louis replies.

 

"He's...what is he to you?"

 

Louis looks across the seat with barely disguised surprise.

 

"Just a mate," he answers. 

 

He hears Harry clear his throat.

 

"He...he appears to like your ass an awful lot. "

 

Louis looks away. The guys who don't want to commit are always the most possessive. He knows it and yet he's pandering to Harry's claim.

 

"Not sure how he knows since he's never had it."

 

It's quiet for a while after that. Louis sees movement in the corner of his eye and notices Harry's hand laying in the space between them; palm open on the middle seat.  It's an invitation. He doesn't know if he should take it without knowing what it means. He looks up; sees that desolate look in Harry's eyes that he saw the first night he walked away. His heart squeezes. He picks up his hand.

 

Harry stares at him; lips barely lifting into a smile.

 

"I'm going to tickle you later," Louis promises of his sober look.

 

When Harry does smile it's so beautiful it almost breaks his heart.

 

//

 

"Will you dance?"

 

Harry's hung his beautiful velour suit jacket on a hanger. He's settled the record player needle on a U2 album that sounds perfect for slow dancing. _Joshua Tree_.

 

Louis swallows and flicks his eyes away from his perusal of Harry's long form; sleek thighs perfect in those soft looking trousers.

 

He hates that Harry wants him to dance. He _hates_ it. The idea burns like acid in his stomach and catches his throat. He doesn't know how to walk away.

 

Harry comes close, hand cupping his hip lightly as he leans in.

 

"With me?" He adds softly, all deep and secret. 

 

Louis feels inadequate in skinny jeans and a plain tee shirt that's thin and slightly see through. 

 

He kicks his shoes off and peels off his socks, bending to roll the hems of his jeans around his ankles.

 

Harry smirks and slips his own boots from his feet shifting them to one side and bending to rid his own socks.

 

Louis swallows when he straightens, chin lifting to meet his gaze.

 

Harry slides one arm around his back; pressing their fronts together before settling Louis' free hand against his chest.

 

"Am I doing this right?" He asks.

 

"Would have thought you jocks knew everything there is to know about slow dancing," Louis quips. 

 

Harry noses into his hair; lips drifting across his temple and onto his cheek. 

 

"I'm always willing to learn.  We both know I like it slow."

 

Louis lets his spare hand settle in the lower curve of Harry's back. Harry seems to take it as a signal to kiss him, swaying them around the room slightly as he sucks Louis' lips.

 

Louis' taken back to every moment they've shared before. Gasping and sometimes soft; grinding and whispering words that still sound far too loud. He aches for wanting it all over again. 

 

He aches for the way Harry's tongue flickers against his own; the way his black shirt feels tight against the warmth of his skin.

 

He tugs at the material within his grasp , freeing it from Harry's trousers. It earns him Harry's intense gaze on him for seconds before Harry ducks to suck a kiss into his neck all biting and sweet.

 

"Do you have any idea?" 

 

Harry's voice sounds different. Strangled and weak.

 

"Do I have any idea what?" Louis murmurs, hands sliding under the shirt tails he's loosened and brushing up Harry's back.

 

"What it feels like, watching you?"

 

Louis pauses, lip bitten and gaze low. Harry's already shown his inclination to possess him despite their non-defined status and this is just another expression of ownership.

 

"No," he admits, scared to look up.

 

Harry cups his cheek and forces him gently.

 

"Do you know how it feels having to share you?"

 

Louis swallows. He has to share Harry too. With a stadium full of football fans but he doesn't even get the sadistic pleasure of watching him being adored because he works on game nights. 

 

"Yes," he answers this time with a defiant brow arch.

 

Harry swallows too; setting them back into motion.

 

Harry's a surprisingly good dancer, smooth and debonair without being too showy. Louis would be happy to teach him some moves but all things considered he shouldn't be thinking of Harry being a permanent fixture in his life at all, really.

 

"Have you ever-" Harry swallows; taking a breath which Louis feels both as his lungs expand and as the air whooshes out; against his hair. "Have you ever want something so badly and you don't know how to get it?"

 

Louis wants to laugh. He wants to laugh really, really loudly because Harry's just described his exact feelings on this whole situation and Louis wouldn't have had the words to do it justice but Harry...Harry's hit the nail on the head.

 

He knows Harry's not into that, though. Not with him at least. He guesses as to what it is Harry _really_ wants. What he's really talking about it cryptic code.

 

He pulls himself gently from his arms; slowly lowering himself until his knees settle on the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

 

"Do all you Frat boys talk in riddles?" Louis curls his fingers around Harry's slim thighs; the incredible softness of the velour of his trousers tickling his fingers.

 

Harry looks down at him, confused.

 

"It wasn't a riddle."

 

Louis presses his soft lips to the zipper of his trousers.

 

"You mean you didn't want me to blow you?" He arches a brow.

 

Harry looks divided. As though part of him very much wants Louis to blow him; and part of him somehow doesn't want that at all.

 

"Or are you still in your denial phase? Having another guy's mouth on you is probably too much confirmation that you like boys..."

 

"I'm not afraid of who I am," Harry says then strongly, voice deep with conviction. "My team-mates don't care who I fuck."

 

He chuckles but it's bitter and incredulous.

 

"My team-mates don't care about me at all," he adds more quietly.

 

Louis deftly unfastens Harry's trousers; folding back the front slightly.

 

"Take them off," Harry tells him.

 

Louis does. He tugs them down slowly, breath falling on Harry's lightly haired legs.

 

"And your shirt," Harry adds, to which Louis obediently strips his top; leaving himself topless as he coaxes Harry back in; using his teeth to tug at the material of his expensive underwear.

 

Harry huffs out a surprised laugh; flingers threading into Louis' hair.

 

"I guess we're doing this," he says.

 

Louis lifts his chin.

 

"Not if you don't want to."

 

"I want to," Harry assures, eyes dark, hand slipping to cup his cheek. "But do you?"

 

Louis nods. He does. He very much wants to. Has been dreaming about it, even.

 

It's tentative and slow. Some might call it hesitant. Awkward.

 

Of all the times they've shared something, this is the most intimate and also the most uncertain. Louis starts by taking him on his tongue; sucking around him and working him up slowly. Harry's hands are reticent at first, not wanting to anchor in Louis' hair but as Louis flicks his tongue and takes him deeper; Harry has to find semblance by holding him somehow.

 

He nearly topples at one point; Louis saving him with strong hands to the backs of his thighs. After that, Harry's hips find a rhythm with the song playing quietly in the background, they pulse gently against Louis' tongue; fucking his mouth only slightly; seeking the sweet warmth at the back of his throat.

 

_You say you'll give me Eyes in a moon of blindness A river in a time of dryness A harbor in the tempest_

_But all the promises we make From the cradle to the grave When all I want is you_

 

Louis has learned not to gag. His job has noting to do with his sexual prowess and as a proud gay man he's too perfectionist not to be able to deep throat. He's never had anyone fuck his mouth before, though. It's the highest form of disrespect to someone who wants to use their mouth on you and yet Harry's breathy, surprised gasps and the way his fingers clutch into Louis' hair has Louis achingly hard; burning for release.

 

He strokes himself as Harry loses his grip on the conscious world; rocking himself to a high that Louis can only carry him through; salty spurts shooting onto his tongue and tangling in his wadded throat when Harry comes; his own release carefully; quietly aimed at his own belly to save the plush carpet from getting stained.

 

Harry's legs weaken in the moment and Louis staggers upwards quickly to push them the few feet towards the bed that is required to land on it; breathy and kind of a mess; crowded together in a tangle of limbs.

 

"Stay," he hears Harry's mumble; eyes sleepily closing after the force of his release.

 

The songs plays out as Louis breathes against his chest.

 

_You say you want Your love to work out right To last with me through the night_

_You say you want Diamonds on a ring of gold Your story to remain untold Your love not to grow cold_

_All the promises we break From the cradle to the grave When all I want is you_

 

//

 

Harry takes him the next morning.

 

Louis hasn't ever shared himself this way before, the position speaks of trust and an intimacy he doesn't usually get to build with a partner but with Harry, it feels like he's standing at the edge of a ravine, looking down, arms outspread to take flight when he knows the landing will be messy.

 

"Mmm..."

 

The throaty, deep sounds of approval are melting him from the inside, he's sure. Something feels like molten lava in his belly and he's not sure yet whether he likes it.

 

Louis gasps a bit, the sensation of easing back on Harry a little overwhelming.

 

Harry's on his back underneath him with Louis' back to his chest and Louis' feet are tucked outside his ankles to part his legs enough to-

 

"Oh...oh, Kitten," Harry clears the husk from his throat, covering a sound that Louis is certain doesn't match his too-cool-for-school image.

 

When Harry rocks up in the club with his rich friends and dashes around the pitch throwing  a pig-skin around, he's pretty sure he's not as weak as he sounds now. He's pretty sure he's not trembling this much.

 

Harry's fingertips flex against the meat of his ass; holding him up still as his muscles stretch and give way to him; a hot flash burrowing into him inch by inch. Louis arches his back a bit; wishing in part that Harry would drop him and let him sink down, too full too soon.

 

The fact Harry inspires him to want that makes him breathless; makes him want to run from the room screaming , too.

 

Louis rolls his hips a bit; the music still playing on loop; raw husky vocals and soft piano with aching guitar riffs twisting his heart.

 

_Sweet the sin Bitter than taste in my mouth I see seven towers But I only see one way out_

_You got to cry without weeping Talk without speaking Scream without raising your voice_

The way Harry nudges deeper into him earns a panted sigh from his lips.

 

"You like that, Kitten?" Harry asks, voice dragging thickly.

 

Louis circles his hips again; pushing back against the control of Harry's steady hands.

 

"More," he begs; choking on the plea.

 

"Feet against the bed," Harry mumbles in his ear.

 

Louis bends his knees and takes the weight of his lower body. He finds out why when Harry's hands slide over his belly; curling around his thigh possessively.

 

"Go ahead," Harry tells him. "Take as much of me as you like..."

 

Louis doesn't rush it. He knows that Harry likes it slow. He knows that teasing is in his nature, is his absolute craft, really. But he wants to remember this moment too because he thinks it might be his last. He thinks Harry might forget him after this and find a jock from the rich part of town to fulfil his desires.

 

He thinks Harry might go back to avoiding gay strip clubs.

 

Harry's little high-pitched 'ah's' as Louis works down on him aren't helping the burning heat spreading like wildfire across his skin. The way his hands worship him- gentle thumbs brushing nipples and big hand wrapping around him to tug, two, three times in achingly slow succession. His lips pressing against his temple and softly uttered expressions of satisfaction; the way he praises Louis for nothing more than tightening around him and then sinking lower.

 

Louis comes hard from it. He's impossibly stretched with Harry who's unimaginably deeply settled inside him when his pinnacle is triggered; just from mere noises and the feel of Harry around him; inside him, pushing him higher.

 

Harry comes inside him, too; with a growl and a thrust of his hips that he's seemingly held back so as not to bruise Louis too much but the tender pain of that move is still more pleasurable than some of the sex Louis has had before.

 

Harry still holds him afterwards; against his chest as his frantic heart beat slows down to that steady thud Louis is growing addicted to.

 

"Say 'hi' to me in the hallway," Louis throws at him before he leaves; Harry curled sleepily in his bed half naked; Louis' too-small t-shirt pulled over his shoulders with a stretch.

 

Harry smiles at him; eyes flicking over the jumper of Harry's that Louis has taken, some rich-kid designer thing that Louis had promised to wear to school one day just to make Harry smile.

 

He hated that it made him smile, too.

 

//

 

They don't really move in the same circles at Uni. They've never crossed paths before or met by accident.

 

When Louis had told Harry respectively to 'call him' and 'say hi in the hallway', it hadn't been with the actual expectation for Harry to do either of those things.

 

Harry had called him. Late on Sunday night; the evening after Louis had left his house. He'd told him how the house was quiet without his parents there. He'd told him he missed having Louis around.

 

And he's there the next morning when Louis shuffles towards his locker; avoiding the rowdy crowd of jocks bouncing around in the hallway; throwing about a ball.

 

"Touchdown," Harry crashes into the metal lockers right before Louis steps up to his.

 

His eyes are bright and he has a smile on his face Louis hasn't seen before- something boyish and preppy.

 

He glances at him unsurely.

 

"Early game?" He enquires.

 

"Wanted to say hi," Harry says, gaze lingering on Louis as if seeking approval.

 

Louis' chest feels a bit tight. He flicks a look around them and upon being assured that there's no hidden cameras or agenda, he allows his lips to flick up at the edges.

 

"Hi," he replies, looking into Harry's eyes this time. "Hi."

 

Harry's lips pull into an answering grin.

 

"You working Friday?"

 

Louis shrugs.

 

"Probably."

 

"I've got a game you know. You could come."

 

Louis flicks his eyes over Harry's expensive pin-striped suit. Its the one with the wide pants that he'd worn to the club the first time; legs spread and gaze cool. Louis still feels a prickle in the pit of his spine from remembering.

 

"I'll see what I can do."

 

"Hey, Styles!" A loud voice cuts in on their moment, Harry's face turning in annoyance.

 

"I should go..."

 

Louis flicks his eyes towards the interruptor; one of Harry's wing-men that he recognises from the club. He lifts his chin in greeting but the other guy remains impassive.

 

"You sure they're cool with this?" Louis muses, turning to unlock his locker and stuff some books in.

 

Harry straightens and moves out of the way at the dismissive gesture, eyes still courting over Louis' form.

 

"I don't really care what they think," Harry states eventually. "Do you?"

 

It's an important question and Louis isn't sure he knows the answer. Harry's started moving away before he gets the chance to think of something to say.

 

"Hey," Louis' eyes dip to Harry's groin as Harry twists to acknowledge his call.

 

"See you later, Kitten," Harry says before Louis thinks of the right words once more.

 

//

 

Harry's drunk.

 

Louis had gotten an undecipherable text from him and in his curiosity he'd called his number, only to have another guy answer the phone and tell him of Harry's state.

 

He must be at a party, then.

 

Louis doesn't know where he's going when he calls the taxi, he only has sketchy directions to the posh part of town but it's clear as day once he gets there where the house-party is taking place.

 

The house is lit up like it's Christmas with students strewn across the lawn and loud music thumping the pavement.

 

Louis begins to feel stupid as he walks up to the house; hands tucked into his jeans pockets and jeans jacket standing out a mile among the designer crowd. He's wearing Harry's jumper though because someone might recognise that and it might afford him immunity.

 

He squeezes into the house; threading his way through the crowds to find the boy he's come to care about; the boy who was endearingly drunk at the last party he'd attended; who'd let Louis take him home.

 

He finds him in a dark corner; curled over on his side almost; if not for the wall propping up his torso and the way he's positioned Louis can see the vomit on the carpet from where he's already thrown up.

 

It doesn't explain why nobody is with him now, though. Why they haven't cleaned him up and got him into a bed. He rushes over; pulling Harry's arm around his shoulder as he slides his around his waist.

 

"Harry...wake up," he calls, tugging at his unconscious form. "Come on, stand up. I'm taking you home..."

 

It takes slow, groggy minutes for Harry to stir. It takes twice as long for him to move. When he does open his mouth, sound doesn't come out at first and then it's deep and kind of raspy.

 

"Take me home," he whispers, then, "Take me home! To the place I belong!"

 

Louis smirks at the song reference, wondering if Harry has the vinyl in his room.

 

"Yeah that's right, champ," Louis muses. "Come on..."

 

Harry manages to get himself up with Louis' help. He stumbles a fair amount and Louis struggles to keep him on balance and the taxi demands a deposit in case Harry pukes again before he'll let them inside.

 

Louis wants to take him back to the dorms; wants to have Harry sleep in his bed for just one night, maybe. Where he can watch him and make sure he's okay but he knows Harry's house is the safest bet. His parents aren't home after all.

 

Harry stumbles around quite drunkenly when they get inside. Louis manages to get him in the shower (fully clothed, but his clothes are covered in sick so it's not a bad thing) and he helps him brush his teeth while Harry clings to him and keeps nodding off against his shoulder.

 

He's exhausted by the time he tosses Harry onto his bed; picking up his legs and swinging them onto the mattress; pulling his covers around him to tuck them in gently.

 

"Where did Lou come from?" Harry's green eyes open to blink at Louis sleepily.

 

"My dorm," Louis picks the most honest answer.

 

"Were you at the party?" Harry begins to unsettle. "I didn't see you, I didn't see-"

 

"No, I wasn't at the party," Louis shares gently.

 

Harry pouts, harrumphing as he plops against the bed again.

 

"Why weren't you at the party, Lou?"

 

Louis rubs his arm a bit.

 

"Because I don't get invited to the same parties you do, Haz."

 

Harry reaches out and fastens a hand into Louis' jumper.

 

"Mine."

 

"Yeah, it's yours," Louis smiles of the top. "You gave it to me yesterday."

 

"No," Harry tugs a bit harder. " _Mine_."

 

Louis smiles at him bemusedly.

 

"You cold?"

 

" _You're_ mine," Harry enunciates, as though Louis is rather stupid.

 

Louis stares; Harry's hand hanging off his front rather pathetically.

 

"Am I ?" He asks, throat wadded as he swallows.

 

"Want you to be," Harry whispers back.

 

The fact Harry's reverted to Tarzan-like speech reminds Louis exactly how intoxicated he is.

 

"Let's talk about this when you're sober enough to understand what you're saying," Louis mutters to himself, fingers gently prizing Harry's out of his top. "I'm gonna go now. Leave you to sleep it off..."

 

Harry pulls Louis closer, worming back on the bed.

 

"Want Lou to stay."

 

Louis sighs, rolling his eyes. He's just spent the better part of an hour cleaning Harry up and putting his clothes into the wash; cleaning the bathroom afterwards and getting Harry ready for bed.

 

He doesn't look like he's going to be sick again but Louis isn't sure what to make of drunk Harry spurting feelings that he's never spoken of when he's sober.

 

"Please," Harry's lips pout as his eyes flutter shirt; curled lashes laying prettily on his cheeks. "Lou."

 

Louis tosses back the duvet to climb into the bed; re-tucking them both in carefully before he settles; Harry nudging into his side for a cuddle.

 

"Thought you were too cool for this," Louis murmurs as he places a kiss amongst Harry's newly clean hair.

 

Harry's little hum of agreement makes him smile.

 

//

 

He can, for several long moments, allow himself to believe that he truly is Harry's.

 

It's morning and Harry's asleep against his back in a smushed kind of spooning gesture but his arm is most definitely around Louis' waist, tight and secure. Louis knows because he's tried to slip away to use the bathroom but he's trapped, apparently.

 

Harry's face is pressed into his shoulder-blade, soft, purr-like snores coming from his parted lips.

 

So Louis lets himself dream. He lets the excited swirl of hope kick up a happy dance in his belly. He bites his lip against the uneven thudding of his heart. He pictures Harry watching him dance; demanding he be Louis' sole audience because he doesn't want other guys to watch him anymore.

 

If Louis were particular he should hate that idea, he should want to remain independent and keep his job but something else in his chest is unfurling and it feels a lot like a want to belong.

 

He _wants_ to belong to Harry.

 

And right now, he kind of does. So he closes his eyes with a happy sigh and a smile edging onto his lips.

 

//

 

Breakfast isn't a fond-fest.

 

Louis sort of knew it was coming and had secretly hoped his instincts were wrong. But Harry's kind of guarded; absorbed in his coffee and nibbling on the buttered toast Louis made for him.

 

"Thanks for coming to get me."

 

Louis sips his tea.

 

"You're welcome."

 

"I would have just slept there."

 

Louis blinks; a smarting sting zapping him in the chest right where his heart is.

 

"Right," he places his mug down carefully and frowns; fidgeting before he stands. "I'm just going to..." Louis gestures to the door and scrapes his chair back.

 

"Lou..."

 

It's raw. It's harsher than his nickname but it's broken some kind of spell between them by Harry using his name.

 

He turns.

 

"I'll walk to school with you."

 

Louis has borrowed another one of Harry's sweaters, a dark green knitted thing that looks nothing like the rest of his designer wardrobe. He doubts anyone at the Uni will even tell it's his.

 

He waits for Harry to get dressed. He comes back in a loud-print shirt tucked into wide-leg trousers; his curly hair gently tamed into a stylish mop and Louis' taken back to the guy in the seat watching him, telling him to go slow. He's taken back to the reality of Harry never being his.

 

It's quiet, the walk. Louis listens to the way Harry's boots clip against the asphalt pavement; the way his thick coat rustles as he lifts his arm to push back his hair. He hears the sighs Harry's giving out; eyes catching the way Harry bites his lip.

 

He's not sure who unfurls their hand first; who eschews their pocket for the favourable hand-swinging beside their body. He's not sure who brushes their fingers against the other first.

 

He knows that it's Harry who tangles their fingers as they approach the gates; he knows it's _his_ heart that skips a beat.

 

His surprise is taken in a quick breath; the same moment a group of guys run up rowdily behind them, two of them jumping onto Harry's back and making him chuckle breathily. He doesn't let go of Louis' hand.

 

"Hey, "Harry greets his friends with a grin.

 

"What a party!" Jake commends from the weekend, eyes tracing over their joined hands. "Where did you go?"

 

Harry shrugs.

 

"Got sick. Went home."

 

"Yeah?" The other guy, Alan muses with an amused smirk at the pair. "Went home with this little one?"

 

Louis opens his mouth to protest that he's not little but Harry laughs, squeezing his hand.

 

"He's my little Kitten."

 

Louis looks at Harry's profile, then flicks his eyes over is friends.

 

"I'm Louis," he announces. "Tomlinson."

 

"Tommo the tease," Alan nods knowingly. "We know who you are."

 

Harry tenses; beside him; tugging Louis a bit closer to his side by the hand.

 

"Just Louis is fine," he murmurs.

 

Jake eyes Louis in a way he's not sure is good or bad.

 

"You took Harry home?"

 

Louis nods.

 

"Can't be all bad," Jake surmises.

 

Louis lets out a quiet huff then.

 

"Good ass," Alan adds with a shrug which only serves to earn a dark glare from Harry.

 

So it's weird, really.

 

It's weird when Louis gets to his locker and has to part with Harry because they almost had something normal for five minutes, then. They almost had Harry's friends' approval and a united front as they walked into school.

 

"Hey," Harry grasps the material at the back of Louis' jumper, right above his ass, turning into him and crowding Louis against the cool metal.

 

Louis swallows; the taller man looming over him; leaning down to brush their lips together to deliver a lingering kiss.

 

"I want this," Harry tells him softly. "I want _you_."

 

Louis wants it too, wants it all with bells on.

 

"Later," he answers only, because he doesn't know what else to say.

 

Harry smirks and leans away, loping down the hallway with his friends. Louis pretends he doesn't notice the way Harry grins at the cheer-squad or the way they magnetically glue to his side.

 

//

 

Harry gets so deep in him and he's so _hard_.

 

Louis' wonders how he doesn't come in minutes from the feel of him; from the heat of what they share and how intensely it bursts inside him; mushrooming over his skin.

 

Harry fucks him into the bed; all warm puffs of air and biting kisses into Louis' shoulders. He pulls Louis back against him after; arms looped around him as Louis sags against his chest; spooned in the sweetest way.

 

His legs fidget; tangled with Harry's. He feels Harry kiss the side of his face.

 

"Kitten."

 

Louis rolls his eyes, dipping his fingers through the gaps in Harry's resting against his middle.

 

"Your friends know me as that now," he sighs.

 

Harry smirks because _yes_ , yes they do. Jake started calling Louis 'kitty' mockingly until Harry had punched him in the kidneys and now both of his friends mocked _Harry_ rather than the smaller boy; teasing him for the nickname he's given to Louis.

 

_"How's your little Kitten today?" "You bringing your Kitten to the party?"_

 

"You don't like it?" Harry asks; fingertips grazing the soft skin on Louis' belly.

 

Louis smiles and wraps Harry's arms around himself  a bit more.

 

"You know I like it."

 

Harry does know that. Because the other night at the club Louis had worn kitten ears and sparkly hot pants with a cat-tail and he'd given the dance of a life-time in that little get up.

 

He'd also broken his no private-dance rule for the second time to show Harry some new moves; most of which were executed in his lap. Harry's smile widens as he remembers it all.

 

"Like you being mine," Harry murmurs lowly.

 

Louis lets his breathing regulate; lets Harry's heart thud steadily against his back.

 

"I can come to your game next week."

 

It'll be his first attendance to support Harry's team; his first night off in two years. He feels Harry twitch beneath him, evidently surprised at the news.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah," Louis says, tightening his grip on Harry's hands slightly. "Little ragamuffin out supporting his rich, hot jock of a boyfriend..."

 

"Wear my jersey," Harry begs quickly; voice deep.

 

Louis nods.

 

"Wait," Harry swallows; unlinking their hands as Louis fidgets to move; turning in his arms so that their fronts press together.

 

"Hm?" Louis arches an innocent brow.

 

"How did you...?" Harry squints at him. "How did you get a Friday off?"

 

Louis dips his head to lick audaciously over Harry's flat nipple, watching it peak from his touch.

 

"Hm, what?" He brushes a thumb over Harry's ribs; moving his hand to grasp his bicep; thick and bunched as Harry moves his arm to wrap around him; bring him in tighter.

 

"A Friday, Lou," he continues insistently. "They never let you have a Friday off."

 

Louis shrugs.

 

"I don't work Fridays anymore."

 

"Anym-" Harry frowns, hand cupping his cheek as his eyes flare, lips parting in shock. "Did they sack you Louis? Is this because of me?"

 

Louis shakes his head, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips right before he presses a kiss into Harry's swollen ones; puffy still from their previous session.

 

"Gave my notice. Taking another job doing accounting for some disgustingly rich guy who has more money than sense..."

 

"Lou-"

 

"He asked me what the going rate was for my services and I quoted him triple," Louis smirks. "He knew it too. Think he liked my pretty smile..."

 

Harry pushes his body up and uses the momentum to roll over; caging Louis under his bigger form.

 

"You quit?"

 

Louis nods, eyes meeting Harry's cautiously. He hopes he did the right thing.

 

"Babe," Harry husks; kissing him then for long, hot moments while Louis squirms beneath him.

 

"And who's this guy?" Harry frowns, eyes focusing sharply on Louis' face.

 

"What guy?" Louis enquires.

 

"The one who thinks your smile is pretty," Harry recounts soberly. "I need to meet this person."

 

Louis tightens his legs around Harry's waist.

 

"He's my new boss," Louis smiles. "Not sure he's up for meeting my intense boyfriend."

 

"Well he needs to be up for it if he thinks you're pretty," Harry murmurs, lips trailing Louis' throat and sucking little kisses there.

 

Louis tilts his hips up, urging Harry on.

 

"We can work something out," Louis agrees breathily.

 

"Hm, damn right," Harry growls; turning Louis onto his belly with gentle hands.

 

"Haz...what-"

 

"Shh," Harry's lips brush his bare backside and Louis' breath catches; body stilling in sudden anticipation.

 

"Haz..."

 

"I said, _shush_ ," Harry's thumbs draw over his skin, parting his cheeks.

 

The next thing Louis feels is his tongue; flicking into him as those swollen lips settle around his rim. He's throbbing there still, from the way Harry had fucked him only moments before; still slick and sticky with the cherry lube they'd used. The way Harry moans tells him he knows exactly what the comforting strokes of his tongue is doing to Louis' rather flaming insides.

 

"Yours," Louis whispers as he lets Harry bring him to his peak again; falling apart in his capable arms.

 

//

 

 

Louis probably didn't think through his easy agreement to wearing Harry's jersey at the game. 

 

In his mind he'd only thought about the warm swirl of belonging in his belly from feeling owned in such a blatant way and with Harry's friends seemingly supporting their relationship, he hadn't thought about backlash.

 

The cheerleaders are sending him dark scathing looks. Some other girls in the stands are too.

 

He clutches the indigo material in his hands and it tightens around his waist; the edges swamping his thighs as he climbs the stands. 

 

Harry doesn't help matters by sending him a wink and a thumbs up with a toothy grin after his first touch down. Everyone knows who Louis is now.

 

Louis flicks his fringe out of his eyes and refuses to hide; dancing along to the music whenever they score a victory. 

 

He couldn't have predicted the way Harry runs off the field after his third goal; racing up the stands without his helmet only to tug Louis from the crowd and wrap his arms around him tightly. 

 

"You," Harry says simply with his dimpled smile; sliding their lips together in a now-familiar way.

 

It earns them cat-calls and screams alike. It earns Louis daggers from the crowds of girls who came solely to get Harry's attention; only to lose it to a guy.

 

Harry races back onto the field to score four more goals; each crossing the bar practically into Louis' heart like sharp spears. 

 

It's the biggest declaration anyone has ever made for him. It's the most meaningful considering his fears for what Harry really wanted from him; from _this_.

 

Louis finds himself shaking and damp from Harry's sweat, heart thudding painfully in his chest as something burns from inside.

 

Hope maybe? Pride?

 

"You're with Harry?" The girl next to him elbows him gently out of his reverie.

 

"Yeah," he nods with a swallow. 

 

"That is _so_ cute!" She smiles. "You're both gorgeous!"

 

Louis flicks her a look but she's genuine, eyes wide and lips beaming.

 

"You're Brittany right?"

 

She nods, happy he's recognised her. He grasps her hand.

 

"Tell me how to stop shaking?" He begs. 

 

She laughs, squeezing his hand back.

 

//

 

It's not the first time Louis has fucked someone in the locker rooms.

 

The last time he was here though, he was the one doing the fucking. He was the one with someone bending over the benches in front of him while he got his pleasurable release. It had been just that- _a fuck_. Some guy who he'd seen for a couple of months and never saw much of after they got caught.

 

This time couldn't be more different. 

 

His feelings for Harry are unspoken but they're stronger than any he's had for someone before.  He was turned on the second Harry pinned him against the tiled shower wall; dark eyes roving his and hot body close.

 

He danced for Harry when he first found him lagging; half undressed and un- showered. He'd given Harry an impish, teasing twirl and what would have been a full routine had he not dragged Louis into his lap to kiss him roughly.

 

Louis had liked those kisses; raw and a bit sweaty. He'd tangled his fingers into his cropped hair  and tugged him closer.

 

They'd made it to the showers; lube in hand. Louis had been spread out; fingered and teased with Harry's tongue before Harry had lined up and thrusted into him; harder and more roughly than he ever had before.

 

Louis is still in his jersey; material soaked through by now but edging Harry's voice into possessive growls and grunts.

 

His hand tangles into the material to tug it up Louis belly so his hand can lay there instead; offering him anchor to his heady feeling.

 

Soon Harry arches over him; arms wrapped right around his waist as he fucks in deep. It's hard but Louis is gasping; pleasure bursting over him in tiny explosions each time Harry thrusts.

 

"You're the prize tonight, Kitten," he pants against Louis' wet hair.

 

Louis nods only, legs trembling.

 

"You like this? Hm?"

 

"Want to-" Louis bites down on his tongue. He's never asked. For _anything_. It's not his place to. He only takes what Harry is willing to give.

 

"What do you want?" Harry screws into him slow; making him feel it, making him go onto his tiptoes.

 

He finds it hard to remember what he wants. 

 

"Your jacket," he swallows, ducking his head as he re-positions his hands on the wet wall of the shower room.

 

"Hm?" Harry lets one hand brush Louis' hard on, moving to circle him and stroke.

 

"Want to...wear your jacket," Louis murmurs, rutting his hips against Harry's strokes. "Every day."

 

Harry chokes; a groan ripping from his throat as he thrusts into Louis hard; a familiar warm spurt occurring right after that makes Louis quiver from the feel of it inside him.

 

Harry's hand slowly starts moving again, focusing his strokes until Louis comes too; clenching around him. 

 

"Fuck that's hot," Harry whispers as he pulls away carefully; easing from Louis' body with a wince, knowing the smaller boy will be sore after what they've just shared. 

 

Louis turns and lets himself be washed, lets Harry kiss him and hold him until they're too wet to stay under the water any more.

 

"Can you walk?" Harry asks as Louis dresses back into his jeans and another borrowed top thanks to his sopping wet jersey. 

 

He smirks.

 

"Pretty sure I could dance if I needed to."

 

Harry slings his bag on his shoulder; suit trousers paired with a half buttoned shirt and hair damp.

 

"You don't need to dance."

 

Louis finds his hair only minorly affected as they leave the locker rooms, Harry's hand curling rather possessively over his ass.

 

//

 

They dance together at the Summer Ball.

 

Louis was nervous walking in wearing matching white suits; a white corsage fixed around his wrist that depicts him as the female counterpart in their relationship.

 

Their peers are mostly supportive. The girls take pictures of them together now and Louis has a range of those photos saved in a little folder on his phone to remember this feeling by; to remember Harry by, really.

 

Because one day, Harry might be gone. After Uni, perhaps, maybe before then if they argue and break up.

 

Louis' grip unconsciously tightens around Harry's hand; his fear of losing the man beside him painfully real. He doesn't want to let go, yet.

 

Harry looks at him; blinking slowly as he continues to talk to the group hanging onto his every word and Louis feels like slipping away; he feels like letting Harry have this moment all to himself.

 

Harry lets go of his hand and he thinks Harry's letting him until he slips an arm around his waist instead; tugging Louis into his side.

 

Louis has never felt ignored by him. At parties he doesn't have to stand at the side of the room drinking and watching Harry from afar, Harry always invites him into his circle and shows him off. Tonight is no different except for how Louis feels.

 

He feels inadequate somehow. He feels like the overwhelming sensation surging in his chest will explode and destroy them both. He feels-

 

"Babe?" Harry hums against his ear as the group take over the conversation.

 

Louis smiles thinly.

 

"Can we dance?"

 

Harry smiles slowly; surprise evident on his face that Louis' asked him. That he's made the move to express what he wants.

 

And so they dance.

 

Arms wrapped around each other one side, hands clasped the other; bodies close and secret smiles slipping onto their lips as they shyly glance at each other; eyes darting around the room to survey the reaction.

 

"You look incredible," Harry tells him.

 

Louis looks up, flicking his fringe away only to remember it's in a neat quiff. Harry's eyes hold all the secrets of the world; deep and tonight, sparkly with stars that Louis thinks he may have put there.

 

He shifts positions; sliding his arms around Harry's shoulders, making the taller man curl a bit to accommodate him but his arms go around Louis' waist easily with a sly smile.

 

"Really, Kitten? Slow dancing already? Trying to get me hard?"

 

Louis swallows, thumb brushing Harry's cheek in a way that is now achingly familiar. It brings Harry's gaze to his, teasing smile sobering and amusement-bright eyes focusing on him.

 

"I love you." It's a near-whisper, voice raspy with nerves and lack of breath.

 

Harry stares at him, body tensing as their gentle movement stops; all around them forgotten as they pause.

 

Louis thinks he's not going to say it back. He thinks he's ruined everything; no matter the feeling in his heart, perhaps he shouldn't have shared it, perhaps he should have waited and-

 

Harry's lips surge onto his; clinging and intense.

 

"Love you too," he mumbles against Louis' mouth. "Louis...I-"

 

Louis kisses him back; pressing closer, pushing on his toes to reach. Harry makes a low noise in his throat and tightens his arms. They part to the sound of applause; their peers avidly watching them kiss in the middle of the dance-floor.

 

Louis grins and ducks his head as Harry waves with a sheepish smile; probably the softest he's ever looked.

 

Harry's hands sneak onto his ass after that. Louis feels a flush cover his body; breath panting out against Harry's white ruffle-shirted chest.

 

"Haz," he begs.

 

"Saw some guy from my Physics class checking you out," Harry murmurs, squeezing Louis' behind.

 

Louis' groin brushes Harry's; the heat still there that he's been aware of since they kissed. Louis manages to meet his gaze; all dark green and reverent.

 

"We can go," he offers.

 

Harry shakes his head.

 

"Haven't showed you off enough yet."

 

"Think everyone knows we're together," Louis snorts quietly.

 

He's been wearing Harry's jacket and attending his games in his jersey for months now. The students would have to be stupid to miss the way they kiss each other every morning in the hallway.

 

Only this is Harry's final year and Louis has two left so soon he won't have anyone to kiss before class. He won't have Harry to make his day that bit brighter.

 

"Want everyone to see you," Harry tells him softly. "You look so nice tonight."

 

Harry's the one with the height and the wide shoulders with classically slim hips. He's the one with the swagger and the half-lidded gaze all cool and commanding. He's the one who wears outrageous prints and 70's style flared trousers with unbuttoned shirts. Harry's the one people want to see. Not Louis. They don't want to see Louis at all.

 

But _Harry_ wants them to. And there's something about getting to dance with him like this that reminds him of they danced in his room all those months back when Louis was still uncertain about what they were. Harry's always been so good to him.

 

He grins as he pulls on Harry's neck to tug him down for another kiss; something like elation bubbling up in his gut.

 

"Whatever happens next year," he begins with a swallow; pulling back far enough to look into Harry's eyes. "Promise me we'll still be together?"

 

Harry's face contorts into a confused expression.

 

"Of course we will. What...-?" He huffs out an indignant breath.

 

Louis shrugs with a weak smile.

 

"You're graduating in a few weeks and-"

 

"And you're mine," Harry presses a kiss onto his lips.

 

Louis rolls his eyes with a resigned sigh. Harry cuddles him in.

 

"I'm not going anywhere, Kitten. I promise."

 

Louis looks at him for evidence of his truth and it's there, written on his face. He lets out the breath he's been holding. His hands are shaking.

 

"Okay," he presses them to Harry's chest to regain control.

 

Harry kisses his temple.

 

"Want to get out of here after all?" Harry asks.

 

Louis tips his head back and laughs; eyes lighting up.

 

"Yes!"

 

"Want you," Harry murmurs into his ear lowly; reminding Louis of the times he's said it before and how hot it was when they came together.

 

This time it sounds like much more of a promise of forever than any he's heard before.

 

//


End file.
